As Mack pushed his Firebird down the freeway through the Delaware Water Gap, he had two thoughts: first, the place had really gotten trashy in the last ten years - it had lost the rugged, refreshingly New Worldly feeling it had when he first saw it; and second, if he could make it to Chicago and find Slim Jim before D-Man, he'd be safe.
He could explain everything to Slim Jim: the money, the girls, the deaths. Everything. Then, if D-Man showed up, Slim Jim could help Mack.
Yeah, he thought, got to get to Chicago pronto.
He pushed his foot down on the accelerator and watched the speedometer climb to 75. 80. 85. He eased off. He didn't want any local or state cops stopping him, slowing him down, and delaying his confession with Slim Jim. Not in this Firebird. Now with what he was carrying. He looked in the mirror. He couldn't see any cops, but still, he eased back to just above the rest of the scattered cars and trucks. He was glad he was traveling at night - few sightseers. The more serious travelers, the ones who had business 500 miles away in less than 12 hours, the ones who positively, absolutely had to be in another city, they rode at night like some men rode cheap whores: hard and quick.
When he first went to New York City, Mack showed up at Grand Central at night and all the other people there were lost, runaways, pimps or whores. And a cop or two. Mack took the first bus out of Chicago and got into New York just before closing time. He had to find a place sleep and keep away from all the pimps and whores in his first two hours in the city. Great start, he thought and shook his head. Nothing's changed.
A red light popped on on his dashboard.
"Damn it," Mack yelled. The Firebird needed oil. He should've checked it when he got gas but he was in too much of a hurry to get out of town and on the road. He saw the garish lights of an interstate gas-junk food-rest area with a Conoco sign rotating lazily against the night sky. He'd pull off there.
An SUV pulled up beside him. Nice rig, Mack thought. All black with tinted windows, no chrome, and not a dent or rust spot anywhere. Mack sped up. He didn't like cars matching his speed on the highway, especially not this night. The SUV kept pace with him. He glanced at it again.
"Shit," he yelled out loud. "It can't be....."
He floored it. The SUV stayed right beside him. He slammed on the brakes. The SUV did the same, so Mack floored the Firebird. The red light seemed to get brighter, stronger. It was almost like a flashing disco light.
"Hang on, babe," he said to his car. "Just half a mile..."
The SUV swerved into him. Sparks showered off of the Firebird as his door handle flew off.
"Damn it!"
The SUV smashed into his left front fender. Headlight glass jumped in the air. Mack cut the wheel to the right. The SUV cut right. The two cars moved in perfect precision.
"Damn it to hell!"
The red light got brighter. All Mack could see was the red light and the SUV crashing into him. Off to the right Mack saw an opening: a hole in the interstate's concrete barrier. He slammed on the brakes. He spun the Firebird to the right. He headed to the hole. He floored it. The SUV caught his right rear fender. The Firebird started to rear up. The front end slowly went airborne. The SUV crashed into the back of Mack's Ford. Then, slowly, it seemed to Mack, the Firebird started to fly. It went up and up and Mack knew it was going to leap over the concrete wall and land like a ballerina on the other side; the SUV would crash into it while Mack and his Firebird would gallop out of New Jersey and on to Chicago.
"Maybe I'll just friggin' fly," Mack smiled. He could see his Firebird floating through the air like a peregrine falcon; too bad it wasn't white, he'd love to be a giant white bird: Up there with the bats, butterflies, and jumbo jets. He wouldn't have to worry about a thing: no bad guys, no oxygen deprivation, no gasoline. He'd just sit, listen to his CDs and enjoy. Enjoy the flight up and away. Maybe he'd circle the globe, maybe he'd do a loop-de-loop over the Chicago loop. Yes, he could fly; his Firebird could fly. If he wanted it hard enough; if he wished for it hard enough.
Then the car hit the earth. Which was hard enough. Then the wall.
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Scene Two: The Autopsy Room
Behind the Curtain: How Scene One Came To Be
